


Hope for Us All

by michals



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Implied Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michals/pseuds/michals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink meme prompt: Ethan and Brandt are captured; tortured, injured, starving, hopeless...Brandt sings to keep them both sane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope for Us All

**Author's Note:**

> The song Brandt sings is [Hope for Us All by Nick Lowe](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbsHdYkiloo).
> 
> Note: the descriptions of the torture is not overly graphic, but enough so that I hope you'll be wary if you have triggers for that kind of thing.

There's a large gash across Ethan's back that's worrying Brandt. There are a lot of gashes, but it's the big one that wraps around his right shoulder and extends down to his ribs that Brandt's anxious about. It's been two days since the sadistic guard put the whip to his back and the wound's still bleeding if Ethan moves too fast or sudden. Not that he has a lot of energy for that but still, it's not healing. 

"That bad, huh?" Ethan mutters, voice tired and soft. Greasy hair hanging limp over his face so Brandt can't see his eyes.

Brandt clears his throat, "No, no," He says as convincingly as possible, "I mean, it needs attention but it could be worse." It's about as vague as possible and Ethan's not stupid enough to buy it.

"'Could be worse.'" Ethan mimics, and it actually manages to sound teasing, "IE, you can't see bone."

Brandt blanches. No bone. Muscle, sure. Infection...well, that's what he's really afraid of. It's already showing signs of that, and Brandt knows that's the one thing he can't do anything about in the squalid prison room they've been locked up in for the past 10 days. 

They're both starting to lose weight. The room's only 6 by 6, and they're sore and hurt and their muscles are atrophying. They'd be in a bad place even without the twisted minds of the men who captured them. As it is, all of Brandt's fingers on his left hand are broken and he's missing a molar or two and Ethan's got deep bruises on his neck and a cut on his back that refuses to stop bleeding. Some days they're ignored, no food or water and the sweltering heat turning their brains to mush. Other days the clomp of heavy boots on concrete herald a new type of torture coming their way. 

Brandt replaces the makeshift bandage on Ethan's back. It's just his shirt, filthy and already caked with blood, but still, it's something. He doesn't dare use what little water they do have, a small stagnant pool in a dish, like they're dogs; because that'd probably only make the infection come quicker, but when the heat comes at midday, stagnant and gross is still better than nothing. 

"Think we'll get another day off?" Ethan asks, facing towards the bars of the cell door. 

'A day off', aka a day without the whip, or the clippers, or whatever else they'll come try next. 

"Eh probably," Brandt says, tentatively tugging at the edges of the bandage, still distracted, mind reeling through the all the ways he could help and coming up short on every one.

They'd tried a fair share of daring escape attempts. Tried pulling out the bars only to find them too strong and themselves too weak, tried taking down the guards, which actually worked at first until they'd hit the main door to the hallway and come face to face with a taser that knocked them flat. Now their captors break out the shackles and a pair of rusty handcuffs anytime they're called upon. Their latest attempt is what earned Ethan the mark across his back.

"It's already too hot, lazy sons-of-bitches." Brandt says and Ethan lets out a noise that may have been a laugh in any other situation.

"Water?" Brandt offers, gesturing. Ethan shakes his head, leans heavier on his knees in front of him. 

"Ethan if you don't drink something-"

"How many days?" He cuts Brandt off, "How much longer you think we can stand it in here?" He's turned his head toward his shoulder, peering at Brandt through his limp hair.

Brandt sighs heavily. This situation, without the heat, without the torture: weeks; this situation, without just the heat: not as long but the prospect's still decent; this situation plus the heat, plus the whips, minus food and water? The odds of it are staggering even for two highly trained agents of the IMF and they've already used up a lot of those days already. 

Ethan Hunt is not hopeless, but he's also not stupid. Brandt likes to pretend, in quiet moments, that he is at least a little bit but that never lasts. That means he's got to go and be the stupid one. 

"Benji and Jane know we're out here. Without our tech, of course it's going to take longer to find us." It's a well worn conversation. They didn't bother with it at first, didn't think they had to, but somewhere around day 4 it started becoming imperative for sanity's sake. He still believes it, of course, he knows his teammates wouldn't stop until they're found, but there was no way for them to know they'd gone missing at first, had no idea where they were. So he believes it, he does, but his hope that it'll happen in time diminishes by the hour.

Right now it's a race between them and Ethan succumbing to infection. The analyst knows this isn't good.

"I mean, jeez," he's rambling before he knows he's doing it, feeling a little light headed from the blood and the lack of food, "Tomorrow I could, I could give them something, anything and maybe we'd get more water, at least..."

Ethan's twisting around and Brandt almost yells at him, eyes flittering across the bandage and his face, hands up. Ethan doesn't say anything but fixes Brandt with a well-worn look.

Yeah, yeah, he knows. There's no way in hell Brandt would ever actually give up state secrets. Would die first (which looks likely, his brain supplies) before he gave their enemies the intel they needed to do harm to more people than just them. Better to rot. 

"Dammit, Ethan," He says with exaggerated exasperation, "Anyone else. Anyone else would've just tell me tell them a couple of bits of info and I would've been able to skip out of here days ago. But no, I got stuck here with you."

Ethan does laugh at that. Strained and sore working past his bruised throat but it brings a smile to Brandt's face, until Ethan tries to move again.

He groans a little as he shuffles around, his hip against the floor, one arm propping him up, the other holding the bandage across his chest. Brandt doesn't fight him, instead guides him down with his right hand, left hand still mostly useless, wrapped up in a torn up pants leg. 

"Hey, come here." Brandt murmurs and he leans up against the wall, the concrete cooler to the touch than the stifling air. He guides Ethan's head into his lap, makes sure there's no pressure on the wound. Brandt stills against the way his head spins, when he comes back down, he realizes how out of breath Ethan is just from that small movement.

"Benji and Jane better be packing some drinks on their rescue wagon," he says and Ethan smiles. "I could drink a tub of Heineken about now." Ethan's smile turns into a grimace at that, Brandt only says it 'cause he knows Ethan hates the stuff.

"No water?" He asks, Brandt shakes his head from side to side. 

"Nope, just alcohol. Lots of it." 

"In that case they need to hurry up," Ethan says, already halfway dozing off. 

Brandt finds himself staring down at Ethan. In any other situation this would be a dream come true. Ethan's head in his lap, hair slipping through his fingers, warm breath on his leg. But Brandt finds he's never been that lucky and it's only through a haze of hunger and pain that he appreciates the moment. Maybe if they survive this, maybe if they get out...

He sighs and Ethan's still awake enough to ask, "What?"

"Nothing," he mutters, then a crazy notion comes to him out of nowhere and he's singing the first line before he can think better of it.

" _People are remarking of the change that's come over me_ ," He's whispering out, " _It can be explained, very easily_."

Ethan doesn't say anything but there's a quizzical look in his eyes as he makes to turn but Brandt gently but firmly keeps him in place, thumb brushing where a new spill of blood seeps through the fabric. 

" _Out of the blue someone's come into my lonely world and now I'm walking tall_ ," He sings a little louder, places his good hand on Ethan's too-warm neck, " _And if even I can find someone, there's hope for us all._ "

It's one of only a handful of songs he knows off the top of his head, finds it funny that it fits so well now, in a strange, off-kilter kind of way. He's brushing Ethan's hair away from his neck, Ethan's face going slacker as he relaxes.

He blames his dizzy head for forgetting the lines to the next verse, hums out the tune fair enough, comes back for the next one, goes, " _I must admit there were times when all I ever did was climb the wall_ ," Finds himself smiling despite himself at the lines, notices Ethan's mouth quirk up at the corners just a bit.

" _But if even I can find someone, there's hope for us all_ " He forgoes the vocalizing, sings it straight and simple, never lets his voice rise farther than the walls of the cell. Ethan's eyes finally drop as he starts to doze off, but Brandt doesn't stop brushing his fingertips across his neck, doesn't stop singing the next verse.

" _Even in my darkest hour there was a light somewhere, letting me know by its glow that I'd find comfort there._ " Dammit Benji, dammit Jane, there's no "maybe" without them. When he sings the words, he finds he only half believes them, but he does it all the same because maybe Ethan will but then Ethan's curling a large hand around his knee and his breath catches a bit before the next line.

Okay, yeah, this next part he believes. " _And if even I can find someone, there's hope for us all..._ "


End file.
